COMRADES ofi/fe MIST 



AND OTHER 



;5 0^^HE GRAND FLEET 



iliUT COMDR. i'UGENE E. WILSON 




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CDEmiGHT DEPOSIT 



COMRADES OF THE MIST 



Comrades of the Mist 

and other 

Rhymes of the Grand Fleet 



by 
LIEUT. COMDR. EUGENE E. WILSON 

U. S. NAVY '• 



NEW YORK 

GEORGE SULLY AND COMPANY' 



:ii«'^ 






COPYRIGHT, 1919, 

By GEORGE SULLY & CO. 



APR 17 1919 



Printed in the United States of America 



ICI.A525143 



^\ ^ f \ 



i 

J. 



DEDICATION. 

To our "Comrades of the Mist" — the 
officers and men of the British Grand 
Fleet, this volume is affectionately dedi- 
cated. 

E. E. W. 



FOREWORD 

Many of the verses in this volume appeared first 
in the weekly newspaper of the United States Ship 
ARKANSAS at a time when she was attached to 
the Sixth Battle Squadron of the Grand Fleet. This 
squadron was under the command of Rear Admiral 
Hugh Rodman, U. S. N., familiarly known as "Old 
AC6" (Admiral Commanding Sixth Battle Squad- 
ron) , who flew his flag on the NEW YORK. The 
remaining ships were the WYOMING, FLORIDA 
and TEXAS, making a crack squadron of America's 
best. This squadron constituted one of the units of 
the Grand Fleet under Admiral Sir David Beatty, 
R. N. and shared with the British the long vigil in 
the North Sea. When not steaming on one duty or 
another, the fleet was based either at Scapa Flow, in 
the Orkney Islands, or on Rosyth, in the Firth of 
Forth, Scotland. 

One of the most difficult problems of the whole 
campaign consisted In keeping the crews fit in spite 
of the enforced long stay aboard ship. The 
w^eekly paper, the ARKLIGHT, was one of the 
sources of amusement for all hands. This little 
sheet w^as unique in that practically everything 
published v^as w^ritten on board. None of the 
contributions w^ere signed and the authors w^ere 
often unknown even to the staff. In order that 
it might be sent through the mails the paper had 
to comply with the censorship regulations, yet it 

9 



FOREWORD 

was possible for one who knew how, to read be- 
tween the lines and guess what was going on. 
Perhaps the best indication of the character of 
the paper is found in the heading of one of the 
issues which reads as follows : 

THEARKLIGHT. 

Founded sometime A. D. 191 8. 

Published weekly on board the U. S. S. ARKANSAS 

Our motto : 
'^Distemper Intemus/* meaning 'We should worry" 

Subscription Rates: 

One year Nothing 

Six months Nothing and a half 

Three months Less than nothing 

We print no liquor or patent medicine advertise- 
ments. The ARKLIGHT has the greatest unpaid 
subscription of any newspaper east of Greenwich 
and north of Fifty-five. 

All manuscripts must be submitted with the 
authors full name. We cannot publish articles 
signed ^^K. C. B.", ''B. L. T." etc. 

Entered at the ARKANSAS postoffice as the 
worst class gf mail matter, 

PASSED BY CENSOR. 

In collecting these verses, the names of the 
authors have been ascertained and are given 

10 



FOREWORD 

under the titles where possible. After months 
in the North Sea I feel capable of assuming the 
responsibility for the others no matter how reck- 
less it may seem. 

It is hoped that these rhymes, by reflecting some 
of the spirit of the Grand Fleet, may help to bring 
out of its self-imposed obscurity Britain's splendid 
"Silent Service.'* 

E. E. W. 



II 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Comrades of the Mist ..... 17 

Cheer O! .......... 19 

Here and There 20 

Deep Stuff 21 

The Gob 23 

Poor Fish! 26 

Mail-OI 29 

Der Tag 30 

The Clinker 31 

The Naval Officers' Rubaiyat ... 33 

The Dead Line 35 

The Sky Gun 37 

Smokes 39 

The Censor 40 

When the Grand Fleet Goes to Sea . 42 

Sea-Going Mother Goose .... 45 

The Guns 47 

Sea-Surgery ........ 49 

Heads Up! ......... 50 

13 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The National Institution .... 52 

The Fleet Inside . . . ... .53 

The Bunker Plate . >; ,.; >. ;. . 54 

JL HE IvILL . . . .; . »• >■; >■ . J J 

The Sweepers , , . :. . -.: v > 58 

Stories for Our Sons . . . > . . 59 

The Flying-Bloke . . >: . . . 61 
The Coxswain's Line . ... . .63 

The Captain ........ 65 

Sing a Song for Navy 67 

Ask a British Naval Officer . .; . 68 

Scotland Forever! . . . . ... . 71 

Crosses ....... >, . . 72 

Scuttlebutt . 74 

The Mine Force . 75 

Armistice Night . 78 

The Sailor's Luck . 83 

The Surrender 86 

Peggy of the Pier . ..... .88 

^^Good-Bye-E-E-E!" . :., ., r.' . . 90 

14 



COMRADES OF THE MIST 



y 



^ COMRADES OF THE MIST 

Where the long bridge spans the mighty Forth, 

Twixt towering headlands bold, 
And thin white fog drifts silently. 

Dank and grey and cold, 
There lean grey ships at anchor ride, 

Their guns by the salt breeze kissed. 
Ah, they are the flower of Britain^s power, 

Our Comrades of the Mist. 



When the North Wind whipped the frothing sea 

And drove the biting spray; 
When the great fleet smashed the towering wave 

And sped upon its way; 
When the mighty ships rolled heavily. 

And driving rain squalls hissed, 
How proud were we to sail the sea, 

With our Comrades of the Mist. 



COMRADES OF THE MIST 

Down through the years that are to come, 

When weVe gone our several ways, 
To the farthest corners of the earth. 

That bask in the sun's warm rays, 
We'll dream of the days when we were part. 

Of Britain's strong mailed fist — 
When we kept the sea and nations free, 

With our Comrades of the Mist. 



l8 



CHEER-O! 

The British have a funny word, 

Cheer-O! 
At first it seemed a bit absurd — 

Cheer-O! 
They said it when we joined the Fleet, 

They say it now when e're we meet, 
Till smilingly we all repeat, 

Cheer-O ! 



They say it when they take a drink — 

Cheer-O! 
They say it in their sleep, I think — 

• Cheer-O 1 
They'll say it when they meet the Hun, 

They'll fire it with the opening gun, 
They'll sing it when the battle's won — • 

Cheer-O! 



19 



HERE AND THERE 

While *'Over Here" 

We spent a year 

And didn't think it fair, 

That all the boys 

And all the noise, 

Were going '^Over There," 

In old Base Two, 

We oft were blue, 

Because we vegetated. 

And did our bits 

A riding jits, 

To towns we always hated. 

But now we sing 
A different thing. 
And no one has a care. 
Since "Over There" 
Is over here 
And "Over Here" 
Is there. 



20 



DEEP STUFF 

I'm a hardened son of the briny deep, 

Barnacled, hairy and mean. 
I'm the hardest, toughest, ugliest cuss, 

That anyone ever has seen. 
And yet there's a mystery even for me — 

Solved I'm afraid it never v^ill be; 
Say, what the Heck does a seaman see? 



IVe sailed with old seadogs, captains and such. 

So mean they could get their own goats. 
The kind that drinks long from the little brown 

jug 
And ships with a hard line of boats. 

And yet there's a riddle — say, give me a tip 

About these old guys that's so fond of their 

nip; 

Now what the Heck does a skipper skip? 

21 



DEEP STUFF 

And as for those soft-fingered, cotton-mouthed 
guys 

We carry around on our craft, 
To pound the typewriters and trim the Exec, 

And pull what they can in their graft, 
Believe me, I don't think I ever will know, 

No matter how far on the briny I go — 
Now what the Heck does a yeoman yeo? 



What the Heck does a yeoman yeo? 

I ask you that as we sail along; 
What the Heck does a bos'n bo? 

Just add that verse to your little song; 
What the Heck does a cutter cut? 

What does a whaler whale? 
What the Heck does the anchor-watch watch? 

And the modern sailor sail? 
Answer me these, you raw recruit 

And you'll be the ''Salt" while I'll be the 
"Boot." 



23 



THE GOB 

What a name for any man 

To saddle on himself, you say, 

And yet its choice exemplifies, 

The sailor's own peculiar way. 

He'd like to make you think him hard, 
And so he swaggers in his walk, 

Injecting salty epithets 

Into his loud sea-going talk. 

And, frosty mornings, up on deck. 
He'll push a rasping holystone, 

Barefooted, in his undershirt — 
And grumble in an undertone. 

Because the Bos-n bawls him out, 

For banging up his neighbor's toes, 

When that young man has wet him down, 
With water from a fire hose. 

23 



THE GOB 

Or on the bridge when in the cold, 

Of driving snow and freezing spray, 

He stands his chilly hours of watch 
Yet always seems to find some ray 

Of sunshine and of happiness — 

The fiercer blows the raging gale, 

The more he seems to like the night — 
It keeps his life from getting stale. 

And down below he'll wield the bar 
And swing the heavy ash pan hoe 

And buck the flaming roaring fires, 
As if they were a deadly foe. 

Because he dearly loves the fight 

And never seems to get enough — 

I think he mostly loves the sea, 

Because it's fierce and treats him rough. 

And yet it' all a pose with him. 

He isn't really hard at all, 
But just a manly, upright boy, 

Who'll answer to your every call 

With every thing that in him is — 

By day or night it's just the same — 

He'll stand behind you to the last. 
If you will only play the game. 

24 



THE GOB 

Funny name and funny ideas, 

Has your salty friend the gob, 

But he'll die for you a smiling 

If you're ^'white" and on the job. 



25 



POOR FISHl 

LIEUTENANT M. A. LEE, U. S. N. 

How lively is the silent clam! 

He never really gives a damn ; 
And there, my dear, his virtue lies, 

At least to my adoring eyes. 



Behold, my child, the little fish, 

Exuding perfume on the dish; 
Not always was his life work food. 

With stuffings and with bones endued, 
But once he swam the deep blue sea, 

Nor gave a damn for you or me ; 
Until one day, with famished look. 

He bit for food and got the hook. 

26 



POOR FISH! 

Behold the all-enormous whale — 

One-third is fish, the rest is tail — 
And yet the former, so they say, 

Makes all the rest get under way. 
Hast seen him spout vast seas of water — 

A habit which he hadn't oughter? 
It was a whale which Jonah used, 

When on the oceans deep he cruised. 
The story's good, but Jonah's exit, 

For me at least completely wrecks it. 



Oh see, my child, the ugly shark! 

His ways arc morbid, dank and dark, 
And all the fishes of the sea. 

Turn on their tails and straightway flee. 
Because he has an appetite. 

Which keeps him moving, day and night, 
Nor does he, when he spies a man. 

Make the best exit that he can — 
But rather, in his playsome way. 

Considers man a mere entree. 



I like to think upon the germ, 

And then compare it with the worm. 
The likeness I will show next time, 

For now, enough that they will rhyme. 

27 



POOR FISH 

Just think with what palatial ease, 

The little rascal spreads disease — •. 
One minute born, the second off, 

To give some child the whooping cough. 
It turns around and at you jumps — 

First thing you know youVe got the mumps. 
If married, with what little trouble, 

A germ can find its life-like double, 
And quicker than you'd bat an eye — ^ 

The dern thing's got an alibi 1 



28 



MAIL-O! 

ENSIGN HUTCHISON, U. S. N. 

Coaling, Coaling, Coaling, 

Our work is never done ; 
The drills are long, the life's all wrong, 

The rain has drowned the sun. 

Mail-0! Mail-O! Mail-O! 

Letters for the Ark; 
This life for me! A man at sea, 
Finds wars like this a lark. 



29 



DER TAG 

LIEUT. H. E. CRESSMAN, U. S. N. 

When eau de cologne comes from llmberger 
cheese, 

When the jelly fish swallows the whale} 
When kangaroos roost on gooseberry trees 

And grasshoppers feed upon quail; 



When the laws of gravity cease to exist 
And the rivers all run up hill; 

When young Americans no more enlist 
To shoot at ^'All Highest Bill"; 



When bumblebees whistle ^^Die Wacht Am 
Rhine" ; 

When feathers are found upon frogs 
When the mule is blessed with a voice divine, 

And humming birds prey upon hogs ; 



When submarines swim through the air at 
night; 

When powder won't burn in our guns — 
Then maybe our allies will give up the fight 

And the world will be ruled by the Huns. 



30 



THE CLINKER 

When the ship drives on through the tumbling 
sea, 

And speeds through the darkest night, 
With the steady wash of turning screws, 

That drive her in her flight; 
And you, in your bunk or up on deck, 

Have naught to do but ride. 
Do you ever thinlc of the watch below, 

Have you ever thought what drives her so, 
Or have you never tried? 



Do you ever picture the turning wheels 

Or flashing rods of steel, 
Or hissing steam or scorching heat. 

Way down there near the keel; 
Do you ever think of the black stoke-hold. 

And its sweating, straining crew; 
Do you ever think of the flaming bed, 

In that gaping maw that must be fed, 
Or is it strange to you? 

31 



THE CLINKER 

Do you ever picture the dusty "Heave" 

Who toils in the bunkers' gloom, 
Where the air is dead and clogged v^ith dust, 

Mid silence of the tomb? 
Do you pity the clinker v^ho struggles alone 

With no complaining sound? 
Well, if you do, don't say it aloud, 

He wants no pity — that boy is proud, 
He's making the wheels go 'round. 



32 



THE NAVAL OFFICERS' RUBAIYAT 

LIEUTENANT M. A. (''OMAR") LEE, U. S. N. 

Wake! For the watch which scatters Into flight, 
The sleep belonging to the field of night. 

Calls; and for you no difference exists, 
And you must wori^, whether in dark or light. 



Before the phantom of false mornlng-tlde, 
Me thought a quartermaster's striker cried: 

*When the thermometer is ten below — 
Why nods the drowsy officer inside ?'* 



The morning orders underneath a hatch 
A cup of coffee, a piece of toast, a match. 

With naught to strike it on because the box 
Is wet with rain and therefore will not scratch. 

23 



THE NAVAL OFFICERS' RUBAIYAT 

The Chief of Bureau writes and having writ 
Moves on; nor all your record or your wit 

Shall lure him back to cancel half a line 
Or change your orders in the slightest bit. 



Yon rising moon that looks on us again, 

How oft hereafter shall she wax and wane; 

How oft hereafter shall we rise and look 
For her, to see naught but a cloud of rain. 



But when some day from navies I will pass 
And bid the rules and regs. all go to grass 

Then in my joyous errand will I say, 

'Twas good ; sh — gif me — hie — another glass. 



34 



THE DEAD LINE 

The Nth Division part of the ship 
Extends from here to there ; 

The Mth Division then begins, 
And goes — oh, anywhere. 



The Nth Division scrubs the paint 
Up to the limiting point. 

The Mth Division then begins, 
And scrubs its little joint. 



But at the place where M begins 
And N comes to a stand. 

The dirty Dead Line finds its place, 
As bleak as No Man's Land. 

35 



THE DEAD LINE 

For those of us who moralize, 
At the ways of mice and men, 

The Dead Line in its squalidness, 
Is well within our ken. 



For he who would succeed in life, 
And put all foes to rout, 

Is he who does more than his bit, 
And wipes the Dead Line outl 



36 



THE SKY GUN 

They put him up high to be close to the sky, 
And shoot down the enemy planes; 

He was just a young kid and yet what he did, 
He had to do most with his brains. 



Way up near the stack where the smoke turned 
him black 

And cinders flew into his eye, 
There wasn't much fun on the long, weary run. 

With the mist and the rain scudding by 



But he stood to the job like a good little gob. 
Though he shivered a lot in the cold. 

And why should we know, all snug down below, 
Twas a lad hardly twenty years old? 



Yet when on the beam he sighted the gleam 

Of a periscope breaking the sea. 
Did he wait for ^'Control"? — No — he shot on 
the roll. 

And I guess that he saved you and me. 

Z7 



THE SKY GUN 

For he kept after Fritz and knocked him to bits, 
And sent him to old Davy Jones, — 

Ere we mustered on deck for a look at the 
wreck — 
'Twas the kid who had saved all our bones. 



So we hand it to him for his pep and his vim, 
And for getting old Fritz on the run. 

It's a nice thing to know that you're safe down 
below. 
When the kid mans the little sky gun. 



38 



SMOKES 

LIEUTENANT H. E. CRESSMAN, U. S. N. 

Tobacco Is a filthy weed, 

/ like it. 
They say it fills no normal need, 

I like it. 
It makes you old, 

It makes you lean, 
It takes the hair 

Right off your bean, 
It's the worst dam stuff I've ever seen, 

But—/ like it/ 



39 



THE CENSOR 

LIEUTENANT J. VANCE, U. S. N. R. F. 

Buried 'neath oceans of home-going mush; 

Wading through pages of lovey-dove slush; 
Killing his eyes with the humble gob's gush, 

Is the censor. 



Laura Jean Libby would seem tame to him; 

Vows of Pelleas are lacking in vim; 
Romance's star becomes suddenly dim 

To the censor, 



Patience is strained as he toils at his job, 
Painfully reading the poor sailor's sob; 

Doing his bit he restraineth the mob; 
Does the censor. 

40 



THE CENSOR 

Sliding through life, unthanked and unsung. 

Frequently cursed and strangely unhung, 
From kegs of good dope always pulling the 
bung. 

Is the censor, 



But when ^'quarters" sound from the heavenly 
land, 

And pearly gates ope' for our immortal band. 
Saint Peter will say as he puts out his hand, 

"Welcome censor !'', 



41 



WHEN THE GRAND FLEET GOES 

TO SEA 

The low scud flies across the skies, 

The rain beats hard on deck; 
The white-caps pelt the armor belt, 

The tide-rips roar in the neck. 
The white mist sweeps in flying sheets, 

And dank is the speeding spray; 
The black hulks loom in the drizzling gloom, 

Two cable lengths away. 



There comes a rift as the fog banks lift * 

To the height of the turret tops; 
The sirens scream, a searchlight beam. 

Swings dead ahead and stops. 
And in its light there sweep in sight 

Destroyers steaming free ; 
The speeding craft glide swiftly aft, 

And onward out to sea, 
42 



WHEN THE GRAND FLEET GOES 

TO SEA 

The sun breaks through and reveals the blue, 

Behind the hovering grey; 
The rain squalls slack, the wind shifts back, 

And drives the mist away. 
There on the beam comes now a gleam, 

As ships turn sharp about, 
Swing to the tide and swiftly glide — 

Light-Cruisers standing out. 



Off on the bow the shore line now, 

Glows green in the morning light 
Against grey stack and turret back, 

And masthead's towering height. 
The huge ships turn, and down astern 

Are lost in the haze alee; 
As propellors sing and rudders swing — 

Battle Cruisers out to sea. 



The moist wind dies, the clearing skies 

Shed warmth on the placid bay; 
The lazy steam from off the stream 

Drifts upward and away. 
With hulls unseen, but topmasts lean. 

Thrust out above the white. 
The Battleships have left their slips, 

And slowly pass from sight. 

43 



WHEN THE GRAND FLEET GOES 

TO SEA 

The sun comes out and puts to rout 

The last of the vapory screen; 
And there behold twixt headlands bold 

No sail or craft is seen, 
But far away on horizon grey 

A myriad speck drifts on, 
Till a deep smoke pall obscures it all, 

And the Battle Fleet is gone. 



Oh, wondrous hour! Oh, mighty power! 

Oh, work of mortal man! 
Your cause is just — guard well your trust, 

As only real men can. 
Stand fast for right throughout your fight 

To keep the ocean free; 
We stand or fall, we stake our all, 

When the Grand Fleet goes to sea. 



44 



SEA-GOING MOTHER GOOSE 

FROM THE ^^ARK'S" NURSERY 

Wilhelm had a little sub, 
- He sent it out to sea, 
And told it to go lie m wait 

Where ships were sure to be. 



It ran across the ARK one day, 
We nailed it to the mast; 

Poor Wilhelm hasn't many left, 
He loses them so fast. 



Sing a song of six-pence 

Draw your monthly money. 

It will be in pounds and pence, 

And won't the stuff look funny? 



When the roll is opened 

Hear the sailors moan — 

*l'd rather have cigar coupons, 
They give away at home I" 

45 



SEA-GOING MOTHER GOOSE 

Ten little submarines, all new and fine; 

Depth charge got one, then there were nine. 

Nine little submarines, exponents of hate; 
Sky-gun potted one and then there were eight 

Eight little submarines, floating under heaven ; 
Sea-plane dropped a bomb and then there 
were seven. 

Seven little submarines, up to naughty tricks; 
One fouled a cruiser's wheels and then there 
were six. 

Six little submarines, didn't look alive; 
One lost its bearings and then there were five. 

Five little submarines headed for the shore; 
One hit a big rock and then there were four. 

Four little submarines in a heavy sea ; 
One was flooded through a hatch, then there 
were three. 

Three little subamrines, getting mighty few; 
One got in a mine field and then there were 
two. 

Two little submarines, playthings of the Hun; 
Fritz got tangled in the nets and then there 
was one. 

One little submarine feeling mighty sore; 
Skipper blew the damn thing up, and now 
"there ain't no more," 

46 



THE GUNS 

With muzzles thrust from turret fronts, 

The long guns grimly peer, 
And search for distant objects, 

On the far horizon clear; 
Twelve steel-grey lengths that silently 

Yet swiftly swing as one — 
They halt, then hold relentlessly, 

A spot beneath the sun. 



A sharp command — a clash of steel. 

The shells go rumbling in; 
A thud of thumping powder bags. 

Machinery's cranking din- 
Then silence, as the muzzles lift 

And point into the sky ; 
One hears the blood pound throbbingly, 

And then the word ''Stand-by 1" 

47 



THE GUNS 

A flash, a roar, the turrets whip, 

The mighty guns recoil; 
The quivering ship sags drunkenly, 

The nearby waters boil; 
The guns spring back "to battery." 

The brown smoke rolls o'erhead, 
And dancing heat waves shimmer, 

Where the singing shells have sped. 



Then on the far horizon where 

The straining eyes can see, 
The hostile lofty topmasts, 

Telling where the hulls must be — 
There one gazing, waiting, breathless, 

Sees a flash against the blue, 
And a burst of flying wreckage. 

As the salvo crashes through. 



Oh, the guns, the smoking grim guns, 

So submissive in our hand. 
Though they do our every bidding, 

Though they yield to each command, 
Yet they strike in sudden anger. 

Dealing death and wound and woe. 
Unto him who in aggression. 

Puts to sea as freedom's foe. 

48 



SEA-SURGERY 

Two keen destroyers sailed one day, 

And sped into a battle — 
The Zeus and the NUBIAN, 

Two jolly little craft — 
But when the smoke had cleared away 

And guns had ceased to rattle, 
The one was riddled forward 

And the other ruined aft. 



So they towed the halves remaining 

To a floating dock hard by — 
The Zeus and the NUBIAN 

Two badly battered boats — 
Where they sewed the parts together 

In the twinkling of an eye, 
And made the good ship ZUBIAN 

The smartest craft that floats. 



49 



HEADS UP! 

When the sea runs high and the rain is cold, 

And the sharp wind cuts your face, 
When you're on watch on a five-inch gun 

In an unprotected place; 
When your feet are numb, your hands are stiff, 

Your clothes are freezing wet, 
Perhaps you'll rue the luckless day 

You entered in the Navy's pay, 
And yet, young man, that's not the way. 

Heads up! 



When youVe been cussed because you failed, 

Although you've done your best. 
And had to stand and take the bumps 

For the errors of the rest; 
Or guessed all wrong on an even chance 

And hard words come your way. 
Perhaps you'll wish that you were back 

In civil life and the beaten track. 
And yet, young man, you're off the track. 

Heads up! 

50 



HEADS UPI 

When down on watch in the hot stoke-hold 

With the ship at topmost speed, 
When the hungry boilers roar for coal 

And call on you to feed; 
When the scorching heat saps all your strength, 

And forced draft wears you down, 
You long for just one moment's rest 

And yet youVe got to stand the test; 
Conceal your weakness with a jest — 

Heads up! 



Then on the day when the lookout sights 

The Hun on his enterprise 
When his turret guns belch forth their shell 

And flame leaps to the skies; 
If one gets home and bursts near you, 

To spread its sudden death, 
They'll never get you on the run. 

You'll fight back hard and serve your gun ; 
You'll cry until the battle's won, 

Heads up! 



51 



THE NATIONAL INSTITUTION 

Say, I'll hand it to the Limey 
For the way he does his job; 

As a seaman and a scrapper he's a bear. 
He don't talk about himself, 
Like the average Yankee gob, 

But at doin' things that boy is simply "there." 



So the things that I don't savvy, 
In the habits of the cuss — 

Well, I lay 'em to his funny limey v^ay, 
'Cause underneath his skin. 
He's just like any one of us. 

From God's Country in the good old U. S. A. 



Yet it jolted me a bit. 
When I read a limey log: 

"The Hun v^as seen at sixteen twenty-three, 
So we sounded 'action stations' — 
Served an extra tot of rum — 

And the Bos'n piped all hands below to tea!" 



S2 



THE FLEET INSIDE 

CHAPLAIN S. W. MC CLELLAND, U. S. N. 

Think of the ships that stay inside, 
Surging about to please the tide; 

Never daring to put to sea, 

Shackled like slaves in timidity, 

Fearing ^'The Dragon" that steams outside; 
Pity the ships that skulk inside. 



Think of the crews v^ho man that fleet, 

Knowing '*Up anchor" must mean defeat; 

Scraping the barnacles off the hulls; 

Sharing their days with the Baltic gulls; 

Awaiting the death that stalks outside — 
Pity the men that stay inside 1 



Think of the Admiral, high in command, 
Knowing that ruin awaits his land, 

Unless his fleet puts out to sea. 
To fight against Democracy. 

He knows '^The Dragon" steams outside — 
So pities himself and stays inside I 



53 



THE BUNKER PLATE 

When Jack hits the beach and gets out of reach 
Of the irksome restraint of the navy, 

He starts a big hole in his fat pay-day roll 
On a course that's decidedly wavy. 



As for shillings and pence he hasn't much sense 
While florins and crowns get his nanny; 

He can't tell a tuppence apart from a thruppence 
But his eye for the girls is uncanny. 



And when the wee lasses who polish the glasses 
Return all the change to our mate, 

He has but one penny, left out of his many — 
Known to him as the big Bunker Plate. 



But Jack strolls along a-singing a song 

Of verses without any rhyme; 
When he gets back aboard he is minus his hoard, 

But, oh, boy! He has had a good timel 



94 



THE KILL 

In the smoking grey of twilight, 

When the tumbling roaring sea, 

Breaks aboard the frail destroyer as she drives, 

Up aloft on swaying foremast. 

There the lookout keeps his watch 

On the convoy, with its forty thousand lives. 



Port and starboard steam the escort, 

Buried first deep in the trough. 
Climbing then upon the face of mountains steep. 
Down astern the huge ships follow. 

Turning roaring seas aside — 
Steaming eastward, gorged with soldiers — laden 
deep. 

55 



THE KILL 

Of a sudden, down from windward, 
Comes the screaming warning wail, 

Of a siren, and the booming of a gun. 

As a towering speeding liner 
Heels far over as she turns, 

To evade the two torpedoes of a Hun. 

In a flash the escort, turning, 

Speeds full tilt toward the spot, 
Where the shells are sending water spouts on 

high. 
As they near, the gun fire ceases, 

But the boiling waters show 
That a submarine is sounding there hard by. 

Depth bombs drop and dull concussion 

Rocks the surface of the sea ; 
From the depths the foaming troubled waters 

boil, 
Bringing bits of shattered wreckage, 

Schools of stunned and helpless fish, 
And the telltale spreading slick of pungent oil. 

Soon a black hulk breaks the surface. 

Then a conning tower appears — 
The destroyers turn and speed to the attack. 
But a hatch is quickly opened — 

Forms of men come tumbling out, 
As the stricken, helpless boat sinks slowly back. 

50 



THE KILL 

Men are fished from chilly waters, 

Drawn aboard by willing hands, 
Warmed and fed by foes who still can play 

the game, 
E^en though forty thousand soldiers 

Might have met death at the hands 
Of a sneaking, cowardly Hun who knows no 
shame. 

Aye, no matter how they foul us. 

We shall keep on fighting clean. 
Buoyed up by faith in justice and in right, 
For 'twere better far to perish. 

Than to live for many years. 
Knowing well you'd won, but fought a dirty 
fight. 



"in 



THE SWEEPERS 

Two little "drifters/' stumpy and squat 

Towing a sweep between, 
Breasting the waves of the wild North Sea, 

Their harvest of mines to glean; 
Two little sweepers alone in the bay, 

Dragging their weary, monotonous way — 
The "Annabelle Lucy" and "Mary Sans Souci" 

Went out in the channel to-day. 



Theirs is the drudgery, work without glory, 

Theirs the monotonous life; 
Clearing the channel of mines for the fleet. 

Their part of the wearisome strife — 
Till a dull detonation from over their way, 

Sends a column of water — a pillar of spray 
And the "Annabelle Lucy" without the "Sans 
Souci" 

Comes back to the harbor to-day. 



58 



STORIES FOR OUR SONS 

ENSIGN HUTCHISON, U. S. N. 

Yes ! Daddy knows right well, my lad, 

The story of the fleet 
That met the Huns off Coney Isle 

In Hipper's great defeat. 



I served a twelve-inch gun, my lad, 

Upon the gallant Ark, 
And fought the fight without respite 

From early dawn till dark. 



We left our base the year before. 
And steamed at forty knots, 

Until we heard the cry of *'smoke" 
And saw them there in spots. 

59 



STORIES FOR OUR SONS 

Aye, there they were at twenty yards, 
A thousand ships in line; 

We opened fire when '^mess-gear^' went 
And sank them all by nine. 



Yes! Daddy was right there, my lad, 
He served a five-inch gun, 

And all alone killed Kaiser Bill, 
Before the war was won. 



60 



THE FLYING-BLOKE 

The Flying-Bloke is up aloft, 
Sharp against the sky — 

Twisting, turning, motor humming, 
Mid the clouds on high. 



Splendid youth is soaring there, 
Cheeks are glowing red. 

Shining eyes look keenly out, 
For the foe ahead. 



Straightway to unequal combat, 
Speeds his battle-plane. 

Firing quickly, swooping upward, 
Diving back again. 



Then it halts — a bit uncertain, 
Flutt'ring — wheels around, 

Drifts into a spinning nose-dive, 
Crashes to the ground. 

6i 



THE FLYING-BLOKE 

There's an empty platform waiting, 

On the turret bare; 
In the mess-room, by the table, 

Stands an empty chair. 



The Flying-Bloke has fallen, 
Like many gallant men, 

But his soul will keep on soaring, 
Till it finds peace again. 



62 



THE COXSWAIN'S LINE 

LIEUT. H. E. CRESSMAN, U. S. N. 

This is the story the Coxswain told to 
a bunch of boots in the forward hold. 

Shanghaied by a whaler I worked as a sailor, 

And fetched up in old Bombay. 
After six weeks afloat in an old whaleboat, 

That steered like a stack of hay. 

I know the shores of the lonely Azores 

And the lights of Sidney Head ; 
Where we lay close hauled and the leadsman 
called 

The depth of the channel's bed. 

I've been through the Straights and the Golden 
Gates, 

Mined diamonds for months by the karat; 
I've been in Algiers stayed in London for years, 

And climed to the top of Mt. Ararat. 

I've sailed a ship in the hurricane's grip, 

And a rotten old tub was she ; 
Where we saved our hides and little besides 

From a wreck in the old North Sea. 

63 



THE COXSWAIN'S LINE 

I've seen the Soudan and the heart of Japan, 
And I've speckled the Indian Seas, 

IVe travelled the Highlands; been all through 
the Islands 
And froze in the bleak Pyrenes. 

IVe been Captain and crew and Bos'n too, 
Sailed round the Horn thirty times, 

On a ship that was built like a crazy quilt, 
With a cargo of liquor and limes. 

I served in the Corps in the late Spanish war, 

And never once had a rest. 
I was shot in the spine and dropped out of line 

And died with a ball in my chest. 

This is the story the Coxswain told to 
a hunch of boots in the forward hold. 



U 



64 



THE CAPTAIN 

Up where the lofty topmast looms 
Against the glow of western sky, 

Where the jutting bridge is set midway 
And gleaming flags of signals fly, 

There stands the Captain gazing out 
To seaward — sharp and keen of eye. 

His grizzled hair against the blue 
Of battered cap with rim of gold. 

His ruddy cheeks with leathern lines, 
His kindly face with features bold, 

Are splashed with rain and flying spray 
And lashed by stinging Norther cold, 

With level head and steady hand 

He guides our thirty thousand tons, 

His task it is to wield the might 

Of throbbing engines, flaming guns 

And guard with care the precious lives 
Of twice a thousand trusting ones. 

65 



THE CAPTAIN 

For we below who fondly place 

Our lives and fortunes in his care, 

So love that weatherbeaten face, 

Those kindly eyes, that grizzled hair, 

That we would follow unto death, 
If he it were who led us there. 



65 



Thiau court/ 
SING A SONG FOR NAVY 

ENSIGN HUTCHINSON, U. S. N. 

The Army's taken Thiaucourt 

The Marines won Chateau Thierry 

Come give us gobs a little chance, 
We're getting mighty weary 

Of lying here and lying there 
Without a sign or rumor 

To make us think we'll ever fight — 
Or put us in good humor. 

The gobs who followed Farragut 
And shipped with O. H. Perry, 

Never hung around like this, 
And kept the lasses merry. 

Now all we ask is one small chance 
To send some Huns to Davy, 

Come let us tune the turrets up! 
And sing a song for navy. 



67 



ASK A BRITISH NAVAL OFFICER 

Ask a British Naval Officer to tell you of 
himself, 

And you'll get a change of subject — that is all. 
Ask a British Naval Officer to tell about a mate, 

And he'll talk you up against the nearest wall. 



Now the night the ''K-10" tied up to our gang- 
way in a fog. 
And we had her skipper over here for tea. 
He was yarning of the rigors of the submarine 
patrol 
In the ^^Bight" and in the stormy Baltic Sea. 



Three small H-Boats, so he told us, had a 
certain rendezvous 
Where they waited for their orders to 
proceed. 
On the surface they were drifting, like a flock 
of sleepy ducks. 
And of danger taking not the slightest heed, 

68 



ASK A BRITISH NAVAL OFFICER 

When they suddenly discovered that a stranger, 
bobbing up 
Where no one had been the moment jUSt 

before, 
Had increased their aggregation from a cozy 
little three 
To a most unhealthful crowd composed of 

four. 

In the twinkling of an eye-lash diving-rudders 

jammed down hard, 
Motors hummed and in a moment all were 

gone. 
One H-Boat, the more conservative, contmued 

on its way. 
But the others stuck around and carried on. 

Soon a wary eye projected from the surface of 
the sea. 
Peered about a bit and found another one. 
Recognition signals spouted, then two friendly 
submarines. 
Scanned the ocean for the presence of the 

Hun. 

Now our Captain— he who told us— saw ahead 
and on the bow 
One more periscope peep out at him and wait. 
So he cruised around before it showing just the 
faintest feather 
To distract attention from his nearby mate. 

69 



ASK A BRITISH NAVAL OFFICER 

I 

Each one knew the other hostile, one man- 
ouvered for a shot, 
While our captain made himself a target boat, 
Till his friend could get position on the un- 
suspecting Hun — 
The remainder of the story we will quote : 

"While the Hun, the shifty beggar, tried to 
outmanoeuver me 
He didn't even sight the little mate. 
Who just planted two torpedoes in the rascal's 
blinkin' hide, 
Sending Fritzie to a most distressing fate. 

And I thought it was so sporting of my friend 
to put him down — 
You'll admit it was a rather ripping show — 
That I got the Force Commander to report it 
when we moored. 
And to recommend him for the D. S. O." 

Ask a British Naval OfBcer to talk about 
himself. 
And you'll get a change of subject — that is all. 
Ask a British Naval Officer to talk about his 
mate 
And he'll back you up against the nearest 
wall. 



70 



SCOTLAND FOREVER! 

Sandy McNab is the canniest Scot 
Thot iver came oot' th' heather; 

The mon is sae thrifty his knees are a' bare, 
No matter how chill is the weather. 



When puffin' his pipe, if the baccy he smokes 

Ha' cost 'im a coople o' pence, 
He gets nae enjoyment at a' frae th' weed, 

Cause he's worried aboot the expense. 



An' if he be smokin' a wee bit o' Jock's 
That he borrowed when Jock never saw, 

He rams the old pipe so dom fu' o' the stuff. 
That he can't make the bloomin' thing drawl 



71 



CROSSES 

A few years ago we didn't think much 

About crosses of any old kind. 
In the old shallow life with no struggle or 
strife, 

A cross was a hard thing to find. 
Perhaps the most frequent of all long ago, 

Was the one without glitter or gloss, 
That the crook handed out to a pal who was 
pinched 

And known as the old "double cross" 

But then came the war with its big decorations 

For men who had fought a good fight; 
And all of these medals were good things to 
have, 

When awarded for valor or might. 
But out of their number one stands all alone. 

Along with the dregs and the dross. 
Awarded for killing of women and children, 

And known as the Hun's Iron Cross. 

And there is the emblem awarded to him, 

Who dies over there in the battle, 
Perhaps it's surmounted by tin-hat or cap, 

And accoutrements no more to rattle. 
A monument this to him who gave all, 

And now lies asleep 'neath the moss, 
A fitting reward for the Great Sacrifice — 

The soldier boy's own wooden cross. 

72 



CROSSES 

But out of the fight as it rages and roars, 

A Hell running rampant on earth, 
There looms up ahead for the living and dead, 

A vision we've seen since our birth, 
Inspiring us all though we stand or we fall, 

To follow nor reckon the loss — 
And trust all to Him who gave up His life. 

And left us His wonderful Cross. 



n 



SCUTTLEBUTT 

CHAPLAIN S. W. MCCLELLAND, U. S. N. 

We're going out from Portland 
We're on our way to Kiel ; 

We're off to meet the President — 
New dope with every meal. 



We put to sea on Sunday — 
No, Monday is the day, 

And Brest the destination — 
Or Malta far away! 



We'll make New York for Christmas, 

Or reach the Dixie line; 
Well — ^we don't know where we're going. 

But the ''scuttlebutt" is fine. 



5^4 



THE MINE FORCE 

If life means little more to you, 

Than something to be idly risked, 

Perhaps the thing for you to do 

Is join the Mine Force and be whisked 

Up to the northern latitudes 

Where men who talk at all of strife, 
Must deal in common platitudes 

Like sudden death and blighted life. 

Up there you'll calmly put to sea 

On some converted merchant ship 

So loaded down with TNT 

And fulminate, on every trip 

That if perchance some careless gob 

Or other menace unforseen 
Like floating mine fields on the job, 

Or Fritzie in a submarine, 

75 



THE MINE FORCE 

Should furnish you the sudden jolt 

That it requires to detonate 
Your cargo, like a thunderbolt, 

YouTl never even guess your fate. 

And when you sew the dragons teeth, 

That splash and quickly downward go, 

To lurk in silence underneath 

The wave, in wait for friend or foe, 

Who knows but what some other day. 

The seed thus sown by your own hand, 

May rise and bump you on your way 

To some more peaceful, fairer land? 

And worst of all when war is done 

And other gobs can homeward sail. 

No doubt you'll have to be the one 
To steam out in a raging gale 

And sweep the bottom of the sea. 

For these same bits of fulminate. 

And nervous cans of TNT 

All primed and cocked to detonate. 

And so if life means naught to you — • 
Or if you really want a thrill, 

You'll find that in this service new— 

The Mine Force — you will get your fill, 

76 



THE MINE FORCE 

Up in the northern latitudes 

Where men who speak at all of strife, 
Must deal in common platitudes 

Like sudden death and blighted life. 



77 



ARMISTICE NIGHT 

The Grand Fleet lay in the Firth of Forth, 

That great, eventful day. 
When the news was flashed around the world, 

That the Hun had come to bay. 
And signed the blooming armistice, 

That took our chance away, 
To sink him in the sea some misty morning. 

Unlike the folks who lived ashore, 

We didn't start to cheer. 
But dully read the message, 

Which confirmed our growing fear, 
That the Hun fleet never would come out 

To let us try our gear, 
And shoot him full of holes, some misty morning. 

And then an old tanker, all covered with grease, 
'Gan tooting her siren and spelling out 
^Teace" 

Spitting and steaming, 
And howling and screaming. 
The racket was heard to the very North Sea. 
And the Grand Fleet all smiled, 
At the message so wild, 
For the signal they heard 
Was a comical word: 
Spelling "peace" with an '^s" instead of a "c"! 

78 



ARMISTICE NIGHT 

Soon thousands of whistles and sirens joined in; 
The cheering of sailors and clattering din 
Of rollicking folks as they beat upon tin; 
The bells were all ringing, 
The sailors all singing, 
With trumpets and bugles all blaring like sin. 

And when shades of night spread over the bay, 

A gleaming searchlight projected its ray. 
To the heavens — where hundreds of others 
straightway. 
Reached up to the clouds and turned night 
into day. 
Then rockets shot up and burst overhead — 
Very-Lights, star-shells and night-signals red, 
Sparkling and glowing, 
And fading and growing, 
The ear-splitting noise might have wakened the 
dead. 

Then up at the mastheads against the black sky. 

There swung to the breeze and floated on high, 

The flags of the Allies — a light swinging by — 

Bathed their folds with its beam till they 

looked just the same! 
As the glowing and flashing bright tongues of 
a flame. 

And then came the roaring 
Of mens voices soaring 
In full-throated cheering 
And joyous acclaim. 

79 



ARMISTICE NIGHT 

Then out from the side of a Yank battleship 

A fifty foot boat started out on a trip; 
A band was on deck, but the music, I fear, 
Might have shattered the drum of a sensitive 
ear. 
It was "Hail, Brothers, Hail! For the Gang is 
All Here!" 
And as they approached the flagship, "Q. E." 
And arrived at the spot where the Limeys could 
see, 
The beam of her searchlight swung over their 
way. 
And lighted them up just as clear as the day. 
And at the boats stern Old Glory waved 
freely. 
Floating majestically — beautiful — really ! 

Then up from the British came three rousing 
cheers. 
That swelled in sweet music to listening ears ; 
While the searchlight beam followed the boat 
out of sight, 
And the next ship in line picked it up with 
her light. 

With such an ovation 
The great British nation 
Gave Thanks 
To the Yanks 
For their part in the fight. 
80 



ARMISTICE NIGHT 

The boat passing on to the end of the line, 
Found her own ''chummy-ship" which she 
knew by the sign : 
"Southampton" in letters writ onto the stern; 

And then, close aboard, the boat made a turn 
And swung alongside 'mid the welcoming shout 
From the Britisher's sailors — the band tumb- 
led out — 
Mid welcoming throngs they were caught in a 
jam 
Yet they managed to strike up "Oh, How 
Dry I Am" 
Shades of George Washington! Ghosts of Corn- 
wallis! 
Who could have dreamed such a thing would 
befall us? 

Dancing and prancing, 
Bandmen all frantic 
Officers vieing 
To find a new antic — 
And yet you will have to admit 'twas romantic ! 

Glasses were brought and all hands drank a toast 
Some to the guests and some to the host; 

"Here's to the President! Here's to the King! 
Long may they live and now let us sing!" 

And so arm in arm and far into the night 

They tautened their friendship and promised 
to fight 

8i 



ARMISTICE NIGHT 

Shoulder to shoulder and firmly to stand — 
That freedom and peace might abide on the 
land. 
Till at last came "good bye" over sparkling wine, 
When they joined in a circle and sang "Auld 
Lang Syne." 
As the Yankees shoved off at exactly one bell, 
They gave their good friends the Annapolis 
yell; 
And shouted "good-by folks, your party was 
swell!" 
While the Limeys agreed they'd enjoyed it as 
well. 
'Mid singing the boat steamed away in the dark; 
And made its way back alongside of the ARK. 
No doubt the next day they all 

were a fright, 
But who had a care on Armistice 
Night! 



B2 



THE SAILOR'S LUCK 

You ask me, stranger, why I look 

So glum, and grouse a bit, 
When the blinkin' war is over, 

And you're celebratin' it? 
Well, I'll tell you, Yank, I'm fed up, 

Disappointed, don't you know, 
By the vagaries of fortune. 

As they came to Scapa Flow. 

Four long years I stayed on duty, 

Up on Flotta's dreary face, 
On the mine fields at the entrance, 

And of leave had not a trace. 
There I listened on the gadjet. 

Called the deep-mine hydrophone. 
That no sub could come a snooping. 

Lest its presence there be known. 

83 



THE SAILOR^S LUCK 

Four long years of tiresome waiting 

Without any hostile sound, 
Then one night a '^fish" came humming 

To the nets, and cruised around, 
Till the 'phones had nicely plotted, 

Her position at the gate. 
And a mighty detonation. 

Sent old Fritzie to his fate. 



Swarms of boats were sent to track him. 

Drags soon found him as he lay; 
Divers dropped down on his deck plates, 

And they heard — so they all say — 
Tapping on the inner bottom, 

Dots and spaces, sending "Help," 
Or the word a Hun would signal— 

Sneakin', dirty, skulkin' whelp 1 



So they called the divers from him. 

Sent a keen destroyer past; 
Dropped a heavy "ash-can" on him- 

And I guess he breathed his last; 
For the divers then reported. 

As they towed him off in-shore, 
That they couldn't hear the noises, 

Of the tapping — any morel 

84 



THE SAILOR'S LUCK 

Now you ask me why I'm grousing, 

And I'll tell you, sir, — why blime — • 
Shoot me for a blinkin' Hun, 

Call me leather-neck or Limey — 
If the hard-luck which pursued me, 

Bringing all its bloomin' woe, 
Didn't give me leave to London, 

So I missed the whole damned showl 



85 



THE SURRENDER , 
1. The Vanquished 

Their dull hulks loom against the gloom 
Of the fog bank's dismal grey, 

Their pace so slow we scarcely know 
The ships are under way. 



The smoke, dead black, creeps from the stack, 

And hangs as a listless pall: 
Black standards drape like funeral crepe 

And death lies over all. 



The silent guns of the sullen Huns 
No more their voices use; 

Yet mute, acclaim the burning shame 
Of the High Sea Fleet's last cruise. 

86 



THE SURRENDER 

2. The Victors 

Our bright sides gleam in the sun's tinged beam 
Where it streams through the morning haze ; 

The bow waves curl in foaming swirl, 
As we speed our several ways. 



The forced draft roars while grey smoke pours, 

And is lost far down alee, 
Our colors fly at topmast high — 

Bright flags of victory. 



Our guns are manned and ready stand. 

To speak with throats aflame, 
To the Cult of Might who dared not fight, 

And would not play the game. 



3. The Faith 

Oh God to Thee, we of the sea 
Give thanks for the wondrous light 

That reveals Thy power in this Thine hour, 
The hour of Truth and Right. 



^7 



PEGGY OF THE PIER 

Peggy, a wee, smiling bonnie scotch lass 

Who lived at the head of the Pier, 
Where it thrust its stone length from the foot 
of the blufif 

With the Bridge of the Forth towering near, 
Owned a novelty shop where she sold to the men, 

Who landed from grim fighting craft — 
^Tenny thrillers," the papers, tobacco and such, 

While she jollied and bantered and laughed. 



From the Admiral down to the lowest "A. B." 

Who stopped at her counter to buy. 
All held in respect the wholesome young miss, 

With the gleam of a smile in her eye. 
And though many had wooed with ardor and 
fire. 

She mocked them and sent them away. 
Till a smart yankee gig swung into the Pier 

One sunshiny, sparkling day. 



PEGGY OF THE PIER 

As the bronzed coxswain spun his brass steering 
wheel, 
And backed smartly up alongside, 

'Tis rumored that Peggy glanced softly his way, 
And opened her blue eyes so wide, 
That she took in the cut of his jib at a glance, 
And her heart skipped a flutter or two 

At the stranger, who promptly gazed back with 
a smile. 
Like any good sailor would do. 



And In the long months that the big yankee ships 

Lay anchored down east of the Pier, 
There followed a courtship in true yankee style, 

At least that is what we all hear; 
Till Peggy gave in and married the chap, 

Thus showing the cordial relations, 
Tween the rank and the file who fight on the 
seas, 

Defending the great allied nations. 



89 



"GOOD-BYE-E-E-E!" 

Yankee ships are underway, 

Standing out to sea — 
British ships escorting them 
Colors floating free; 
Signals passing ship to ship, 
Flash "Good luck and pleasant tripl" 
Parting cheers on every lip, 
Singing "Good-Bye-e-e-e!" 

British ships are turning now. 

Standing toward the shore ; 
Yankee ships are steaming on — • 
Home-bound pennants soar; 
Misty eyes with sorrow gaze; 
Thoughts return to happy days; 
Friends are lost in distant haze — 
Grand Fleet days are o'er, 

Yankee thoughts now homeward fly, 

Far across the sea; 
Christmas in our native land, 
Beckons you and me. 
Yet our hearts must long retain. 
Memories of the message plain, 
"Britain wants you back again, 
Good-luck and ^Good-Bye-e-e-eM" 



90 



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